Nothin Sweet about Rather Sweet

"Unproductive." That was the frequent word that was turned in my direction. The definition of "Sleeping in untill noon, staying in your pajamas all day, and ofcourse vegging out on the couch."
The usual lathargicness (is that a word??) of my day was....well...normal.
So it was a very rare thing for me to find myself doing something that was going to be benificial.
Applying for a job. It was at a little well-known bakery on Main street that in more words or less, was the reason why ppl counted their calories. Each delicious cookie or peice of cake was about enough to slap a few pounds to your thighs. So i thought "Who wouldnt want to work at a bakery? I mean im sure they give their employees the little reject pastries they cant sell." And well being around sweets 5hrs. a day didnt sound all that bad to me. So i applied, and filled out the application with what i would call "the worst hand writing in the world." And for some unknown reason, they hired me. A fifteen year old girl who had no idea what the resturant buisness was all about. But i got the hang of it. Eventually. After working my butt off bussing tables and handling peoples spitty silverware. Running food up and down all 36 steps about a 100 times a day. And Breaking quite a few plates. I hadnt realized until then how much energy it took to please people.

Because really thats all it was about. Pleasing people, no matter how crazy the request. For instance, if the man seated at table 3 strangely wants lemon in his tuna salad, you had better put some dang lemon in his fish. And if the lady at table 9 wants another glass because she insists theres "something floating in the water." Then you have to run up stares shuffle through a big room full of dishes, run back down. All the while praying shes not getting more and more impatient. And you would think that after kissing someones butt for 2 and a half hours youd at least get a descent tip. But no, when you see that soggy one dollar bill tucked beneath the plate. You had better not throw a fit. So after 3 months of this torment, this cutting myself with the lime knife, spilling hot lasagna on myself, and carrying in spider infested rotted logs to warm the "costumers". Well after all that. I quit. But a big factor was my boss. Rebekka Rather. The stubborn, full of herself, "bow down to me im the pastry queen." miserable human being. She was the reason. All though i respected her work, thought her dog Bo was adorable, and LOVED her food. She was still not my most favorite person. And now, working at a hair salon, answering phones and checking people out. I am quite happy. I get my 7hr. HGTV fix and ofcourse when ever my split ends start taunting me, my boss Cathy chops em off for absolutely FREE. So here i am 3 days a week, chatting with the girls about the "latest" and eating a donut from the crappy coffee shop across the street. But hey! It sure beats being screamed at by a baker! :D